


Adeste fideles

by Ellen Smithee (ellensmithee), saltzatore



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Drabbles, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-25
Updated: 2011-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-28 01:59:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/302486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellensmithee/pseuds/Ellen%20Smithee, https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltzatore/pseuds/saltzatore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>24 drabbles for The Vampire Diaries, various pairings.</p><p>Warnings: death of major character, biting, compulsion, implied dub-con/non-con, implied torture, fluff, vampire turning</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adeste fideles

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Sooo, ellensmithee and I had this idea, we did a drabble-calendar-thing. Each one of us had a list of 12 random words (or, maybe, not so random... :D) and ever other day we'd write a drabble for that. We set out with three pairings in mind (Damon/Alaric, Katherine/Elijah and Klaus/Stefan), BUT, in the end, we didn't stick to them only. So, here you will find 24 different drabbles (100-300 words). Ellensmithee wrote the even ones, I did the odd ones. I am posting the first 12 drabbles, the others can be found here.
> 
> You have no idea how much I was looking forward to each and every day she wrote something for me, I love how ellen could say so much in so few words and I'm trying to think up a reason to continue this even though Christmas is over... Any ideas? :D (Btw, my favorite? "Dream". I LOVE that one.)
> 
> While you're reading this, we'd like to ask you a favor: If you find any drabble you think might make for a good story, let us know, chances are we'll turn it into a longer story if people are interested.

December 1st

 **rage**

 _Elijah, Klaus (Elijah/Klaus?)_

Elijah is a gentleman. He never says a word in anger, he always holds himself back. He’s polite, in the background, blending in with his environment. Watching. Sometimes you won’t notice him until he steps forward and offers his thoughts on a subject.

Nobody has ever seen him angry.

Until a group of rogue vampires attacks Klaus that one night, corners him in an abandoned cave, slows him down with a stake through his heart and lays into him so fiercely he is bleeding from what seems like a thousand wounds. It doesn’t kill him, Originals can’t die from that, it’s merely painful and takes a whole night to heal.

Elijah tracks them down.

One by one, he goes after them, hunting them like animals, following their scent until he finds them. He never tells Klaus what he does to them, doesn’t _have_ to tell him, but the vampires are never seen again.

Elijah's rage isn't loud, isn't red, isn't violent.

It's silent, inevitable.

And cold.

*** *** ***

 

December 2nd

 **candles**

 _Damon/Alaric_

"Ouch!"

"You're such a wimp."

"Stop laughing."

"Hey, it was your idea. I'm just the tool to your--well, I guess it wasn't very pleasurable, was it?"

"Yeah, you're a tool all right. Gimme that."

"No way, dude. It's not my fantasy. You're the one who wanted hot wax, so you get hot wax."

"Not on my--I have a new fantasy. This time you're on the receiving end."

"Some vampire you are. I thought you guys were all about mixing pleasure with pai--OW! Damon! What the...?!"

"I was right, inflicting is much more fun."

*** *** ***

 

December 3rd

 **loyalty**

 _Klaus/Stefan_

“You are free— free to go.”

Stefan shivers when the compulsion is lifted, when that special pressure he wasn’t aware of until right now lessens and reality shifts. He gasps, takes a step back, reaches out to steady himself against a wall.

Klaus remains standing in front of him, staring at him, holding his gaze steadily. His face is closed off, distant, people who don’t know him might even say he looks cold and unaffected.

But Stefan knows, knows what to look for, how to read him, sees the fear, the barely controlled panic in his eyes.

This is it, this is the moment he has been waiting for, for weeks. The moment where he can finally leave it all behind, can go back to his life, to his family, to his friends, the moment where he can finally leave—

But he doesn’t.

*** *** ***

 

December 4th

 **water**

 _Damon/Alaric_

As the water trickles down from the spout, covering them in gentle spray, Damon presses his face against the back of Alaric's neck, inhaling the other man's scent--shower gel and blood pulsing right below the surface of his skin. His hand glides over Alaric's skin, just barely grazing it with his fingertips, just a touch and a tease. He's rewarded with a shudder and a sigh and then Alaric is pushing back against him, onto him, reaching back to twist his fist in Damon's hair. Damon gasps and then Alaric moves and it's _perfect_.

*** *** ***

 

December 5th

 **intimacy**

 _Damon/Alaric_

One look.

One look is all it takes.

It’s rare, it happens only once, maybe twice a month.

One look.

After a fight, after a run in with whatever creature dumb enough to fight back, sometimes even after a close call. When there’s still blood on them, on both of them.

One look.

A battle of will, of trust, of lust that is decided long before their eyes meet.

One look—and he gives in. He always gives in, then, gives up control for one night, just one night. No fighting, no word of protest, no struggle for the upper hand.

He lets the other have his way with him—and he loves it, loves how gentle the man can be. Feather-light touches, soft nips at his throat, fangs grazing his skin but never breaking it, not on those nights.

One look—and he is lost, found and put back together again.

*** *** ***

 

December 6th

 **ignorance**

 _Damon/Alaric_

 _What Alaric doesn't know won't kill him._

At least, that's what Damon tells himself. Always at that moment, right before he comes, when the words are right there, trying to push their way out between his lips before Damon sinks his teeth into Alaric's skin.

 _What Damon doesn't know won't kill him._

At least, that's what Alaric tells himself. When Damon's tongue slides across his, tangy with bourbon and blood, his hands on Alaric's skin, bruising his hips, curled around his cock, and Alaric bites his tongue till it bleeds.

*** *** ***

 

December 7th

 **trust**

 _Damon/Alaric_

They never say _I love you_.

Not because it isn’t true, not because they don’t want to acknowledge their feelings.

They never say _I love you_ because that’s not what they are about. Love, affection, tenderness—it’s all there, plain to see for everyone who knows what to look for, no need to talk about it.

What they say is _I trust you_ , every time they have each other’s back.

What they say is _I want you_ , every time their lips meet and they kiss each other breathless.

What they say is _I need you_ , every time they let their guard down around each other, every time they are close to each other—in so many more ways than words can ever say.

*** *** ***

 

December 8th

 **snow**

 _Damon/Alaric_

Damon hates snow. For years, decades even, he's managed to avoid it, going north only when he's sure the scourge of winter is over and migrating south to the sunny climes as soon as the leaves start turning. So he isn't sure why he agreed to join Alaric to spend Christmas with the Saltzmans in Massachusetts.

Alaric's parents are friendly, aging hippies who seem to embarrass Alaric more than Stefan ever embarrassed him, so when Alaric asks Damon to join him for a walk out in the snow, Damon takes pity on him and agrees. They trudge out to the woods behind the house, and Damon feels like a hero for keeping his complaints to a passive-aggressive sigh or two. But then Alaric grabs him and presses him against the tree, his mouth and hands everywhere, and then on the ground, snow getting under Damon's collar and into his pants, and Alaric just feels so _good_ -

Snow’s not that bad. Hell, maybe he could learn to love it even.

*** *** ***

 

December 9th

 **intrigue**

 _Damon/Alaric_

Alaric shows up on his doorstep in the middle of the night, drunk, barely standing, sinking into his arms as soon as he opens the door.

“Do it…” he whispers, breath hitching, ghosting across his skin. “I can’t live like this anymore… please— just do it, get it over with…”

It’s the alcohol talking, despair and sorrow, all mixing together into a desperate plea that wouldn’t have crossed his lips otherwise.

He doesn’t say a word, drags him inside, into the study, dumping the unresisting body onto the couch near the fireplace. Alaric sags back against the cushions, watching him, eyes heavy and shining with so much hope it makes him sick just looking at him. He’s thought about it, more than once, he’s imagined doing it, giving both of them what they want so much. He’s wanted to do it for months now, but every time he’d made up his mind, every time he’d gathered enough courage to go through with it, to do it—something had stopped him, a look, a word, a touch—

“Do it,” Alaric whispers again, tilting his head back and to the side.

An invitation.

“… _please_ …”

*** *** ***

 

December 10th

 **dream**

 _Damon/Alaric_

"Stay out of my dreams."

Damon looked up in surprise from the book he was reading. Alaric was sitting up on the sofa where he'd passed out in exhaustion a few hours earlier, regarding him with a grouchy frown.

"I wasn't in your dreams," he said raising a brow.

"Liar." Alaric clenched his fist and jutted out his chin. "Don't do it again."

"I didn't do anything--hey!" Damon set down his book as Alaric got to his feet and stormed towards the door. Damon jumped up and raced after his friend, grabbing him and throwing him up against the wall right before he escaped.

As Alaric's eyes widened slightly, Damon smirked. "You were dreaming about me, weren't you?" Before Alaric could reply, Damon pressed his knee between the other man's legs and rubbed it slowly against Alaric's obvious erection. "I wasn't in your head, Ric. Anything you dreamt is all on you."

Alaric licked his lips. "Bastard," he whispered.

"I know," Damon murmured as he leaned in for a kiss.

*** *** ***

 

December 11th

 **betrayal**

 _Damon/Alaric_

The first thing he notices is the smell: Blood, rich, sweet, familiar.

Damon frowns, stops in the open door and listens into the silence of the house, his ears picking up a soft sound from upstairs, a pained moan, muffled. He flashes up the stairs and into his room, stopping, again, at the door at the sight that greets him: Alaric is lying on his bed, naked, twisted into the covers, pale as the sheets around him. There is blood, everywhere, staining the covers, the sheets, the shivering body. Bite marks cover his skin; at his throat, on his back, on his sides, his hips—and lower, careless, sloppy, deep wounds that are still bleeding. Ric is only semi-conscious, blinking dizzily into the room, moving restlessly on the sheets, as if he is trying to get away.

Damon is stunned, for a second, watching his human writhe on the bed, a furious growl building in his throat when he picks up a faint scent beneath the stench of blood.

 _Klaus_.

*** *** ***

 

December 12th

 **dagger**

 _Alaric/Katherine_

Katherine clung to him, burying her nose in his coat as she inhaled his scent, autumn leaves and gunpowder and his own delicious blood. The dagger she'd just drawn from his shoulder lay glistening on the forest floor, his lips stained with her own life-giving essence.

"Rick, let me turn you," she whispered, panic tightening her chest.

"Katherine..."

"Please," she said, pulling back. "I... I can't lose you."

Alaric reached up to twist one of her curls around his finger. "I'm too old to be turned."

Katherine gazed down at his hair, slowly fading to white, and the lines in his face and smiled.

"Never."

*** *** ***

December 13th

 ** handcuffs **

_ Damon/Alaric _

“ENOUGH OF THIS, I’M  HUNGRY !”

Klaus’s roar cut through the silence of the warehouse, shocking them awake.

Damon struggled to lift his head, but the vervain in his system barely let him open his eyes. There was movement next to him, Alaric stumbling into his line of sight. His clothes were torn and bloody, exhaustion clear in every line of his body, his wrists held tight behind his back by the handcuffs. He didn’t look back, completely focused on the dark shape at the other end of the hall that was rapidly coming closer.

“Don’t do this,” Damon forced out through clenched teeth, no longer sure who he was talking to.

It didn’t matter, neither Alaric nor the raging hybrid paid attention to his struggles, there was only the sound of a body hitting the wall behind him and then Klaus was feeding, Alaric’s soft sounds of pain and protest slowly fading into the background.

*** *** ***

December 14th

 ** warmth **

_ Damon/Alaric _

Alaric was shivering, his chattering teeth morsing the fact that he was cold to anyone within earshot. Luckily, only Damon could hear. He wrapped himself around Alaric's body, settling his erection between the cheeks of the other man's ass.

"You did this on purpose," Alaric said, his voice plaintive. "You knew it was gonna storm. You planned this all along."

Despite his complaint, Alaric didn't move away and Damon knew he'd won. Instead of answering, he just kissed Alaric's shoulder.

"I'm blaming you if I get sick," Alaric murmured, turning to face Damon.

Success.

*** *** ***

December 15th

 ** beast **

_ Damon/Alaric _

<click>

It was a soft sound that woke him and before he was really awake Damon knew he wasn’t alone in his room.

He raised his head and blinked—

And froze.

“Good morning, handsome.”

Katherine’s smile was big—and fake, definitely not friendly. More like predatory.

What was even more alarming was the i-phone she had pointed at him, as if she had just taken a photo. Of him.

“Does Elena know about this?”

Damon ran a hand over his face—and started when the bed beneath him moved.    
Groaned   
. The warm body he was more or less lying on tensed slightly and Alaric’s disheveled head appeared from beneath a cushion, voice hoarse with sleep.

“Wha’zit?”

Damon stared at him for a second, then sighed and turned back to Katherine.

And grinned.

“For the record, this is    
exactly   
what it looks like.”

*** *** ***

December 16th

 ** game **

_ Damon/Alaric + Klaus _

"You're getting warmer, Damon..."

Damon's stomach twists as he races through the maze of shelving, his cell phone pressed to his ear. He reaches a fork in the path and pauses, looking both ways before turning left.

"Getting colder, Damon. You don't want Rick to get cold now, too, do you?"

Damon whirls around, looking frantically down the aisles he passes he runs in the other direction, trying to block out the sound of Klaus's soft, smug laugh on the other end of the line. Then he sees it, a partway open door at the end of the rows of shelves.

"Hot, Damon, very hot. Burning, even."

Damon catches a glimpse of Alaric through the door and he stumbles and catches himself again. Alaric is shaking his head and shouting something, but all Damon sees is the man he loves,    
alive   
. He bursts into the room, skidding to a stop in front of Alaric. Before he can speak, the door slams shut behind him, enveloping them in darkness. Damon is still for a moment, trying to catch his bearings, when Alaric's voice, quiet and hoarse from screaming, breaks through the darkness.

"It's a trap."

*** *** ***

December 17th

 ** jealousy **

_ Damon/Alaric, Stefan _

He feels it the moment he gets out of the car: Something is wrong.

The living room is empty, but the house is not, there are two heartbeats, upstairs; one slow, irregular, the other fast, panicked. Both familiar.

 _ Shit _ .

He runs up the stairs, skidding to a stop in front of his room, heart clenching painfully at the sight that greets him: Stefan is sitting on the bed, cross-legged, Alaric’s head pillowed in his lap. He’s carding his fingers through Ric’s hair absentmindedly while he is staring off into space. Alaric is completely relaxed, lying on his back, looking up at Stefan, his racing heartbeat the only indication that he is not as calm as he looks.

 _ Compulsion _ .

Stefan looks up when Damon enters the room.

“He loves you,” he mumbles, sounding amazed… and something else, some tone that makes the hair at the back of Damon’s neck stand up. “Why? You’re a monster, just like me…”

*** *** ***

December 18th

 ** music **

_ Alaric + Elijah _

As Alaric awakes, the first thing he hears is music, filtering into his conscious mind, something classical, an opera, Wagner, he thinks. He opens his eyes slowly, his head still on his chest. He hears the clang of silverware and looks up to find Elijah sitting at the other end of a large dining table.

"Ah, you are awake," Elijah says. He pauses to take a sip of his drink, which Alaric can tell is blood, even from where he's sitting. "You should try the crème brûlée. It is excellent."

Alaric looks down at his place-setting to find a bowl of custard. But that's not what smells so delicious, he realizes. Next to the bowl of custard is a glass of blood.

"What have you done to me?" Alaric rasps.

Elijah smiles and Alaric has to bite his tongue not to scream.

*** *** ***

December 19th

 ** eyes **

_ Damon/Alaric _

It’s hot.

“Ric.”

He’s drifting, not really here, not really there.

“Ric…”

His head feels… weird… kind of stuffed… like it’s too small for him. And it hurts.

“Come on, I know you’re awake…”

Something surprisingly cold brushes his neck, but it’s gone too fast and he mumbles something in protest, forcing himself to open his eyes—

And then he’s drowning in blue.

“Aw, man, you look like shit.”

“Dam’n?”

Where did his voice go?

The cold is back, rests on his forehead and it feels so good he sighs in relief.

There’s silence, then, “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

The cold starts to spread across his chest, his legs…

“Go back to sleep, Ric.”

He does.

*** *** ***

December 20th

 ** black **

_ Damon/Alaric _

When he wakes up, it is so dark that he can’t see anything but shapeless shadows and blobs before his eyes, morphing into featureless faces if he concentrates hard enough. The floor beneath him is cold and hard and covered with a fine layer of grit—concrete, he thinks as he rolls onto his hands and knees. Smells assault his senses—oil, sawdust, rotting garbage—and one that makes his stomach churn in panic and his teeth ache in hunger.  _ Blood _ . He starts to creep across the floor towards the smell, his heart pounding over the buzz of the distance generator. As the coppery scent starts to envelop him, he puts his hand down in front of him and slides forward in viscous liquid until it hits something hard. Rigid. Cold.

"No," he whispers, and then the lights go on.

*** *** ***

December 21st

 ** sympathy **

_ Damon/Alaric _

Stefan approaches the boarding house slowly. Hesitantly. Doesn’t really want to go there.

The house is quiet, dark. No movement.

Damon is in the living-room, standing in front of the large window at the far end of it. He doesn’t turn, doesn’t acknowledge his presence at all. Stefan remains outside, looking at his back through the open door.

It’s so hard to find the right words to say.

“It was… it was nice… a nice ceremony… Al--he-he would have liked it.”

Damon doesn’t move, keeps staring into the darkness.

“You need anything?”

He never gets an answer. Not that he expects to.

*****

When he wakes up the next morning, Damon is gone.

*** *** ***

December 22nd

 ** soul **

_ Damon/Alaric _

“Do you think vampires have souls?”

Damon shifted his weight at Alaric’s query, moving Alaric’s head onto the softer flesh of his inner thigh.

“Silly question,” he said. “Of course. Where do you think Stefan gets his broodiness and puppy-like gazes?”

“You mean that’s not some form of vampire indigestion?”

Damon snorted. “I think I like your theory better,” he said. He slid his fingers into Alaric’s hair, and Alaric hummed in contentment as Damon gently massaged his scape. “Why do you ask?”

Alaric stared up at the airplane inching across the sky, leaving a tail of condensation in its wake, and he reached up to grab Damon’s other hand, entwining their fingers.

“Just wonderin’,” he said. “Just, you know, wanting to make sure before…”

His voice trailed off as he felt Damon go rigid beneath him.

“So you’re saying…”

“Yeah,” Alaric said, moistening his lips. “I’ve given it a lot of thought. I just… I don’t want things to change between us.”

“They will,” Damon said softly as he lowered his head to look into Alaric’s eyes, letting the other man see the depth of his emotions for once. “But they’ll only get even better.”

As Damon’s lips closed over his, blood from Damon’s tongue filling his mouth and trickling down his throat, Alaric knew, deep in his soul, he’d made the right decision.

*** *** ***

December 23rd

 ** comfort **

_ Damon/Alaric _

Damon is pissed.

Alaric doesn’t need to be growled at as soon as his vampire lover barges through the front door, all tense and furious, to realize that something must have happened to put Damon in a foul mood. Alaric barely steps out of the way before he is pushed aside with enough force to be knocked into the wall, hard. Damon ignores him and continues into the living-room, where, only a moment later, the sound of something glassy shattering on a wall can be heard.

Whatever had happened, it made Damon literally vibrate with anger. Or sadness. Or grief. It's hard to tell with Damon, the more something—or some   
_one _   
hurts him, the more violent he gets, pushing everything and everyone away from him as far as possible.

It took some time to not take that personal anymore, to not just shout or shove back and be pissed at Damon in return. Getting behind that part of Damon's personality was tough—but it was worth it. By now, Alaric stays when everyone flees the scene, he's there when Damon relaxes enough to tolerate him in the same room and he is still there when the mighty, reckless, badass vampire Damon Salvatore finally becomes silent. When he allows Alaric to get a glimpse behind all the words and the glares and the growls.

When he finally lets him get close again, starts drifting toward him over a long, long period of time in which Alaric does nothing but sip his drink and stare out of the window. In a lot of ways it's like getting a kicked dog to trust you again, you ignore him but make sure that he can't ignore you and, over time, he will realize you don't mean him any harm and start to eat out of your hand.

Or, in Damon's case, sit down on the couch next to Alaric, so close their shoulders almost touch. Lean his head back against the couch and start talking about whatever set him off.

Or just stay silent.

*** *** ***

December 24th

 ** mistletoe **

_ Damon/Alaric _

Alaric felt vaguely ill as he watched Elena flirting with Damon over by the tree. Judging by her glances over to where Rebekah was on Stefan’s lap feeding him Christmas cookies, she was only trying to get her ex’s attention, but Alaric wasn’t going to just stand there and watch Elena and Damon cozying up to each other all night, at least not without liquid reinforcement. Whirling around, he stalked off towards the kitchen, incognizant of the pair of eyes that were following his every move as well.

When he reached the fridge, he grabbed the pitcher of eggnog and then, shivering at a sudden breeze, poured himself a generous glass. Then he turned around and jumped, catching the glass just in time.

“Hello, Ric.”

“Damon,” he said, his voice coming out in a low, grumpy growl. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“More eggnog. Thanks.” Damon grabbed his glass and and took a sip before setting it down out of Alaric’s reach on the counter.

Alaric rolled his eyes and started to turn away to get another glass out of the cabinet, but Damon grabbed his arm.

“Not so fast,” he said, pointing upwards. “Mistletoe.”

Alaric’s stomach lurched and plummeted and his heart started to pound in panic.

“What the—are you  _ nuts _ ?” he asked. “That wasn’t there before.”

“Sure it was,” Damon said, grabbing Alaric by the lapels and pulling him closer. “Now pucker up. It’s tradition.”

“Damon, I—” Before he could finish, Damon had smashed his lips against Alaric in a sloppy kiss. Alaric winced as their teeth crashed together, clacking loudly.

“Ow!” he said, pulling away. He reached up to touch his lip, grimacing when he saw the blood sticking to his fingers.

“Sorry,” Damon said, giving Alaric a lopsided grin. “Let me get that.”

Alaric’s eyes widened as the veins around Damon’s eyes darkened, but before he could react, Damon leaned forward and ran his tongue over Alaric’s injured lip. Alaric gasped, and Damon took advantage of his open mouth to slip his tongue inside before sealing his mouth over the cut on Alaric’s lip. Alaric shivered and pressed closer, returning the kiss for a moment before pulling away again.

“You’re drunk,” he said.

“Only on you,” Damon murmured, dragging his lips down Alaric’s throat.

“And Elena?”

Damon chuckled. “Someone’s jealous,” he said in a sing-song.

“Am not,” Alaric grumbled. But he found himself grinning as he let Damon lead him towards the pantry-slash-utility-room.

“There’s no mistletoe in here,” he said, once they were inside.

“Shut up and drop your pants,” Damon said, shutting the pantry door behind them.

“Yes, sir,” Alaric said with a snicker as he undid his jeans. He’d barely gotten them down over his hips when Damon suddenly lifted him and set him down on the dryer, with a fluffy towel protecting Alaric’s ass from the cold metal. Reaching back for balance, Alaric found himself holding a small bottle. He snorted and held it up.

“Lube? You prepared for this.”

“Yeah, well, you used to be a Boy Scout,” Damon said, grabbing Alaric’s cock and stroking it. “And I used to eat them.”

“You’re so romantic.” Alaric’s eyes fell closed and he leaned back, shuddering as Damon’s hand found a particularly sensitive point on his prick. “Jesus, Damon.”

“You like that, huh?” Damon pushed a finger into Alaric as he spoke. Alaric cried out softly as Damon’s finger brushed his prostate. “Oh, yeah, I’m guessing you do.”

“Just shut up and fuck me.”

“You have no patience, Ric.”

“And since when do you—oh,  God.”

Damon pushed into him then, his cock filling Alaric with an exquisite burn. Alaric let out a strangled cry as Damon started to move, driving into him with hard, deep thrusts. Then Damon grabbed his prick, and Alaric’s annoyance was forgotten.

*****

“Where did Ric and Damon go?” Elena asked with a frown as she glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece.

“Getting eggnog,” Caroline and Stefan said in unison, exchanging a meaningful glance.

“Then they’d better hurry up and finish having sex,” Rebekah said, rolling her eyes. “I’m parched.” As Caroline giggled and Stefan groaned, she furrowed her brow. “What?”


End file.
